


Can’t Stop Falling

by aurora_australis



Series: New Found Lands [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 17:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15823557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_australis/pseuds/aurora_australis
Summary: In 2018 London, Jack Robinson is enjoying his first holiday in years.He’s about to enjoy it a whole lot more.Inspired by the Great Big Sea song of the same name.





	Can’t Stop Falling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts).



> Inspired by the [wonderful Great Big Sea song, _Can’t Stop Falling_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hk4erxnC80I).
> 
> Many many thanks to Sarahtoo for the fabulous beta read!

The music wasn’t bad actually.

Jack had always been under the impression that English dance clubs all played electronic crap. But this was… real music. Rather sped up to encourage dancing, he assumed, but he could pick out the notes and was enjoying himself much more than he’d thought he would. His table was even far enough away from the action and the speakers to carry on a conversation at normal volume, which he thought was probably also novel in this kind of establishment. Of course, now he had no one to talk _to_. Kenny had just left, claiming an early morning, but Jack assumed he was actually meeting up with the boyfriend he would tell Jack about when he was ready. He hoped it would be sooner rather than later. He really wanted to meet the bloke before he had to return home next month. Jack had planned to leave the club when Kenny did, but having only just gotten his first drink, had decided to stay and finish it instead.

Kenny had convinced him to come out tonight only after making a detailed list of why Jack’s chosen holiday spots so far - the British Museum, the Globe, the Tower, Big Ben - were all boring as hell and he would simply _not_ be responsible for sending his favorite cousin back to Australia with nothing but memories of dusty landmarks. Hence tonight. An evening on the town, to conclude with dancing at Kenny’s very favorite club, The Green Mill.

Jack had reluctantly agreed. This visit _was_ supposed to be a break. He’d earned it, after all. He’d been heading Melbourne’s anti-trafficking task force for nearly two years now, which had started to take a toll. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d taken a vacation. And he’d never been to England before. So when his cousin had invited him to visit for the hundredth time, Jack had finally taken him up on it. Five weeks in London, the rest of England, and wherever else Jack could get himself on his savings and his savvy. He was currently six days in, adjusted to the time change and ready for… what, he didn’t know. But he was ready for something.

In his pocket, Jack’s cell phone vibrated with a text alert. He put down his drink and pulled out his phone to read the new message. Well, speak of the devil.

_Ran into an old friend on the way to the tube. Might be home pretty late. Remember - building code is 240212._

Jack snorted and shook his head. Kenny was the best of men, but the worst of liars. Definitely meeting up with the boyfriend tonight then. A second text came in a moment later.

_Also remember - HAVE FUN!_

Jack smiled and put away his phone. Then he picked up his glass and looked around the room from his small table in the back. It was good people-watching, this place. The detective in Jack was enjoying the puzzle of who fit with whom and how. By his count there were three affairs, two first dates and one break-up in progress, plus countless other interactions he was only half paying attention to. He was very intently ignoring anything that even hinted at illegal. He was on holiday after all. He swept his eyes over the crowd once more and stopped. A woman was standing halfway across the dance floor, chatting amiably with one of the servers. He squinted a little. Did he know her? She seemed… familiar somehow. He looked closer and decided no, he didn’t. But he also didn’t look away. She was, quite simply, breathtaking. Black hair set against pale skin, with a smile so brilliant it could be in Mensa.

No.

No. He was not, emphatically _not,_ here for that. He was here to see the sights. He was not looking for a… whatever. He’d been divorced three years now and he was comfortable with his life. He wasn’t looking for anything new. He wasn’t looking for anything at all. Jack hadn’t exactly sworn off women, that would be overly dramatic even by his own somewhat theatrical inclinations. But he didn’t really make himself available either. At least not emotionally. Less investment meant less disappointment on less return. And this one… Jack wasn’t a “love at first sight” kind of bloke. Most of the time he wasn’t even a “like at first chat” kind of bloke. But for some reason he could see himself becoming invested in her. So… no.

Still.

Jack reminded himself there was no harm in looking and so he nursed his whisky and admired the view. She was talking to someone else now. Laughing at something the woman had said. She laughed with her whole body. He admired that. She seemed to hold nothing back. 

After a few minutes he looked down at his drink and noticed it was almost empty. He should probably leave soon. When he looked up, she had moved. Or rather, she was on the move. Across the dance floor, half walking, half dancing to the music.

He watched her cross the room, weaving in and out of the crowd, and was reminded of the sun passing between clouds. She came fully into view once more and he amended his analogy. Not the sun. Softer than the sun, less garish, more mysterious. The moon then. Waxing and waning as people passed in front of her or she them, but always, _always_ the most luminous thing in the sky.

Jack chuckled to himself. His flair for the dramatic was showing again. Maybe he should think about doing some amateur theatre again when he got home. He was so engrossed in his poetic musings he momentarily lost sight of her and then, suddenly, there she was. At his table. Hand on hip, smirk on face.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hi…” he said, too surprised by her appearance to be more eloquent than that. 

“You’ve been staring at me,” she said, not accusingly, just matter of fact.

“Sorry,” he said. No point denying it. He had been. “Truly. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. At first I thought I knew you from somewhere and then… and then I just liked looking.”

What the hell? He never said things like that. _Ever_. That was…

“Honest,” she said. “I like that.” She held out her hand for him to shake. “Phryne Fisher.”

“Jack Robinson,” he responded, returning the gesture.

She pulled up the chair Kenny had vacated not 15 minutes ago and sat beside him. “So, Jack Robinson, what’s a serious boy like you doing in a convivial place like this?”

He raised his eyebrows slightly in response to both the question and the way she had just invited herself to join him. “I don’t think that’s _quite_ the expression, Miss Fisher.”

“Well I hardly ever follow the script, Jack. It’s so much more interesting that way.”

“What is?”

“Everything,” she said with such a sparkle in her eye he almost had to look away.

“An intriguing philosophy, Miss Fisher. Does that mean you don’t follow the law, either?”

“Well if I don’t, I’m certainly not going to tell a copper.”

Jack’s jaw hung open for just a moment before he schooled his features into a more neutral expression. “How on earth…?”

“There are tables closer to the bar and dance floor, but you chose this one because it’s the only one with a clear line of sight to both exits AND with a wall at your back. You’re watching the crowd but not in a lecherous way, more in an observant way. You keep reaching inside your suit coat out of habit, I assume to check for the firearm that’s not there - which also makes you police _from abroad_ but we can can talk about that later - and in this place the suit is a dead giveaway anyway. _And_ ,” she nodded over her left shoulder, “when you realized the couple behind me was on a first date, you kept an eye on both her date and her drink the entire time she was in the loo. Which could make you just a good guy, but combined with all the other evidence I’m going to conclude police officer. Senior Sergeant at least.”

“Inspector, actually,” Jack corrected. He felt the need to show off a little himself after that display. Bloody hell, who was this woman?

“You’re very young to be an Inspector,” she replied, sounding a little impressed. Good. The showing off worked.

“I’ve worked very hard,” he answered.

“Good answer, Inspector. Not braggy, but not humble either. Well balanced. Tell me, is diplomacy a part of the job?”

“It can be. Would it be rude to ask what you do?”

“Not at all. I’m a writer.”

“Ah.” He’d known a lot of writers just out of uni. Lots of angst and lots of debt. Maybe he should buy her a drink. Just to be nice, of course. He looked at his glass, which was now empty anyway. He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.

“Would you like another drink?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah, I was about to offer -”

“No need, I’ve got this round.” She stood up and walked to the bar, leaning over slightly to be heard by the bartender, and his eyes, seemingly of their own accord, drifted down slightly to rest on her frankly magnificent arse. Realizing quite suddenly what he was doing, he snapped his vision back up and decided he needed to have a very stern word with his subconscious about propriety. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be fine.

And his eyes drifted down again.

Her dark hair fell a few inches below her shoulders in a slight wave that seemed both effortless and put together at the same time. She was wearing a tight black shirt with a high neck and cut out shoulders that Jack found far more distracting than shoulders had any right to be. The aforementioned arse was shown off to its best advantage in dark, form fitting jeans, and the entire ensemble was completed with a pair of dark red heels that hadn’t seemed to give her any trouble as she’d moved across the club. As an athlete himself, Jack could tell by the way she carried herself that she was one as well, though what she did for sport he didn’t know. His soon-to-be-chastised subconscious had a few ideas though.

A minute or two later she turned and walked back towards the table, holding a bottle in one hand and an empty glass in the other. Jack was surprised, but chalked it up to a bottle somehow being the more economical option. When she returned she filled his glass, then her own, before reclaiming her spot next to him. Jack took a sip. This was _much_ better than the whisky he’d been drinking before. He turned the bottle to face the label towards him.

“Miss Fisher, this is a Glenlivet 18!”

“Yes,” she replied, taking an appreciative sip of the liquor.

“This is an £85 bottle of whisky!”

“Well it’s the best Scotch they had - how could I resist, drinking with a Robinson?” she said by way of an explanation.

“You’re a writer,” he stated, somewhat unnecessarily.

“I am,” she agreed, good-naturedly.

“How can you afford this?”

“I’m a very _good_ writer, Jack,” she responded taking a slow sip, her eyes alight with amusement.

“Well… lucky me,” he said.

“ _That_ remains to be seen.”

Jack coughed slightly at the implication, the tips of his ears turning red. He prayed the lights in the club masked it.

“So you never answered my question, Jack.”

“What’s that?”

“What brings you to town? You’re clearly Australian, but I don’t get the impression you’re an expat, so… what? Secondment to Scotland Yard? Chasing down a lead?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Are you here undercover?”

He smiled. “Sorry to disappoint. Just here on holiday. Visiting my cousin.”

“And they brought you here? Fun cousin. Where is…?”

“Kenny. Off. Early morning, or so he claims.”

“You don’t believe him?”

Jack considered the woman before him. It wasn’t any of her business. It wasn’t any of _his_ business, really, but at least he was family. Still. He found himself wanting to open up. Just a little.

“I believe he has a boyfriend, a serious boyfriend, that he’s working up the nerve to tell me about.”

“Oh, I see. And should he be worried?”

“A bit, maybe. We grew up together, but Kenny’s two years younger than me and I’m a bit… protective. I’d want to make sure this boyfriend, whoever he is, is a good chap. And apparently I’m,” Jack sighed, “slightly intimidating.”

“Well if it helps, I’m not intimidated in the least,” Phryne declared with a smile.

“I don’t believe you’re intimidated by much, Miss Fisher,” Jack replied, raising his glass slightly in salute.

“The blank page,” she said with a small shrug. “But that’s why I live life to the hilt. Loads of experiences to draw from then.”

“Well, I’m ashamed to say I’m not familiar with your work.”

“You might be. I write under a pen name.”

“Oh?” he asked. “What’s your pen name?”

“Archie Jones.”

Jack paused, whisky glass halfway to his lips. “Archie Jones?”

“Mmmm,” she confirmed.

“The mystery writer?”

“So you _are_ familiar with my work?”

“I believe so, yes. You write those, uh, Fern Stanley books, don’t you?”

“Have you read them?

“Mmmmm. I, uh, read one. Once. The one in the gentlemen's club?” He smiled, just a little. “I liked the bit with the fan dance.”

“I’ll bet you did.” She waited until he had taken another drink to continue. “You know, I learned how to fan dance for that book. I wanted it to be realistic.”

In response, Jack snorted some very expensive whisky out his nose.

When he had recovered, he gave her a chastising look. “You did that on purpose,” he accused.

“Perhaps,” she said smiling. “But it doesn’t make the story any less true.”

“So,” he asked, “besides making unsuspecting policeman waste perfectly good whisky, what else have you learnt to do for you books?”

“Oh all kinds of things,” she replied excitedly. “I’ve learned to drive a race car, make wine, throw knives. I’ve _perfected_ my barefoot dancing.”

“Sounds exhausting,” he said dryly.

“It can be,” she laughed. “But it’s an awful lot of fun as well. So tell me, Inspector, what do you do for fun? What are your passions?”

“Who says I have fun?”

“Those lovely laugh lines around your eyes,” she said with sincerity, and he blinked a little in surprise. “Besides,” she continued more lightly, “no one can be dour all the time. Talk about exhausting.”

“True, true,” he replied with a nod. “Well, I’m not sure I would call it a _passion_ , but I do cycle quite a bit. I also garden. I read. Go to footy matches, go to the theatre - ”

“Oh really! I’ve heard there’s quite a fascinating experimental theatre scene in Melbourne these days. Do you enjoy it?”

“Actually I stick closer to the classics, Miss Fisher. Probably my old-fashioned sensibilities. I’m more of a Shakespeare man.”

She grinned, then quickly moved the bottle and glasses to the side of the table and gestured grandly to the blank space before them with her hand.

“The stage is all yours.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly at that. But then his questioning eyes met her challenging ones, alight with expectation, and he decided, what the hell, he hadn’t memorized so much of the Bard for nothing. He cleared his throat and began.

> “Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
> 
> Her infinite variety. Other women cloy
> 
> The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry
> 
> Where most she satisfies.”

Phryne’s jaw dropped, ever so slightly, and her eyes changed. They were suddenly darker, more charged. She seemed to shake it off quickly enough, but he had seen it. Had _felt_ it. He reached for his drink once more, anything to cool down.

Recovered, she smiled at him. “Perhaps a career in the theatre beckons after all, Inspector.”

He shook his head with a downturned smile. “Think I’ll stick to law enforcement, thanks.”

“Ever the detective?” she asked.

“Ever,” he agreed. “For example, how did you know I was from Melbourne?”

She looked surprised for a moment, and then clearly remembered her earlier question about the theatre. “Do you really want to know? I thought, perhaps, you’d more enjoy a neverending source of mystery.”

“I get the feeling, Miss Fisher, that you will always be a neverending source of mystery no matter how much you share with me.”

She looked positively delighted at that. 

“Aaaand,” he continued, “I want to make sure you aren’t spying on me.”

“Well you can never be sure of that, Inspector, but as to how I knew this particular fact…” she leaned in a little as though relating a great secret and he subconsciously mirrored the movement, “I’m from Melbourne as well.”

He sat up in surprise. “Are you really?”

She nodded. “Collingwood.”

“Richmond,” he supplied. “But I have to say, you don’t sound like we could be neighbors. How’d you lose the accent?”

“I moved here when I was a teenager. Family business. Sort of picked up the local dialect, and since then I’ve never stayed anywhere long enough to adopt something new.”

“Well, Australia’s loss was clearly the world’s gain, Miss Fisher.”

“Why do you do that?” she asked.

“Do what?” he answered, confused.

“Call me ‘Miss Fisher’? It’s so formal.”

He considered her question. “Habit, I suppose. I generally address new people formally. It helps establish the relationship.”

“New people you meet through work, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Do you meet new people any other way?”

“You make me sound like a shut-in, Miss Fisher.”

“And you make me sound like a spinster in a 19th century novel, Inspector Robinson.”

He held up his drink in silent concession. “Very well, _Phryne_.”

“Thank you.” She paused, looking at her drink for a moment. Then she looked back up. “Do you like your job, Jack?” she asked suddenly, and he looked at her for a moment before answering.

“Why do you ask?”

“I’ve interviewed a lot of police and private investigators as research for my books. I’ve even participated in a number of investigations as a consultant. I’ve seen the toll it can take. I’ve not been unaffected myself. I’m just curious if you enjoy what you do.”

“I do,” he said slowly, “mostly. I like puzzling it out, working the problem. I’m good at what I do, which helps. And most days… most days I get up in the morning and know I’m making a difference, making people’s lives a little bit better, even if it’s just giving them answers to questions they wish they didn’t have to ask. And it makes all the sacrifices,” he thought of his oft neglected roses, all those missed celebrations, his ex-wife, “worth it. But it’s… a lot. The last few years especially have been an almost constant bombardment of the worst of humanity.” He looked at her then. He never opened up like this and was almost surprised at the words tumbling out of his mouth. But there was no judgement in her expression. No pity. No disappointment. Just understanding. So the words kept tumbling. 

“Sometimes I feel like I’m just tilting at windmills, except, of course, the enemies aren’t imaginary, even if the action feels in vain. Sometimes… sometimes I wish I could just give it all up to go tend bar somewhere.”

“It’s not too late,” she said gently.

“Oh I think it is,” he replied with a wan smile. “I am who I am. I’m a policeman. Though… I guess I came all the way out here because I’m finally ready for something in addition to that. What that something is,” he shrugged, “I have no idea.”

She reached across and took his hand, giving it a small squeeze before letting go. They both took a sip of whisky then and Jack was surprised that his decidedly unfestive musings hadn’t ruined the atmosphere. Their silence was companionable, pleasant even, which made his heart almost hurt with the longing. He hadn’t felt that with someone in so long. Maybe ever. Still, it wouldn’t do to stay on this road. He was on holiday after all.

“Well this hardly seems like appropriate club conversation. Not that I’d really know. I almost never frequent these kinds of places. What do people usually talk about? Should I ask you your sign?” He delivered the last bit so dryly he was momentarily afraid she’d miss that he was kidding. But her answering smile said that she hadn’t. He got the impression she didn’t miss much. 

“Well, _that_ is actually an interesting story, Jack.”

“Is it?”

“Mmmm. You see I was born a Libra.”

“It didn’t take?”

“Apparently not. Too much balance, not enough fun,” she complained. 

“So you just chose a new sign. Can you… can you just do that?”

“Jack, they’re astrological signs, not tax file numbers. You really do follow all the rules, don’t you?”

“Well I’m a Gemini,” he responded with shrug and the barest hint of a smile.

“Oh, it all makes sense now,” she agreed with a teasing nod. “And in any case I didn’t choose the sign, the sign chose me. 

“How so?”

“Well I was born a Libra, but I was _reborn_ a Sagittarius.”

“Reborn? As in… religiously?”

She smiled, just a little sadly. “No. As in... personally, I suppose. I was in a, bad, situation. I got myself out. It was twelve years ago, just before Christmas. December 21st to be exact. That was the day I was reborn as… me. Hence, Sagittarius.”

He couldn’t be sure of course, but he got the impression she didn’t tell that story to many people. He felt honored she would share it with him. Then again, he was currently fighting the urge to tell her his whole life story and he never shared anything with anyone. 

_Who was this woman?_

Deciding a change of tone was called for once again, he smiled slightly and said, “Well now I feel boring. What with only the one birthday.”

“We could get you another, if you like. What’s a significant day in your personal history?” she asked.

Today, he wanted to say. He stopped himself. He wasn’t looking for anything, dammit! Certainly nothing serious. No matter how deep those eyes were. A bit of fun. That’s all. A drink. Or... he looked at the bottle in front of them. Two? When had that happened? What time was it anyway?

“Is this the proper setting?” he asked instead.

“To discuss astrology? The movements of celestial bodies? I rather think a dance club is the perfect setting for that.”

“Well Pythagoras could hear the music of the spheres, but he was a lot more mathematical than this crowd.”

“Oh hush and don’t be a such a snob. Actually,” she said, reaching for his hand, “if you’re interested I _could_ read your palm. I learned how to do that for one of my books as well. Remember, I like authenticity in my work.”

Jack snorted in response. “Oh is that so? Is that why you had the killer in the Chinatown theatre lug around a sheet of plexiglass and a projector to create the ghost illusion? I mean, it’s a good use of the Pepper’s Ghost technique, but I’ve spent a lot of time backstage, Phryne - where on earth was he supposed to be hiding that unobserved? Really, Fern should have noticed immediately. She’s usually much more observant.”

She dropped his hand and he looked up. As he met her eyes, he immediately realized his mistake. Possibly mistakes, plural. That was yet to be determined.

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I thought you had only read the one.”

He coughed and looked down at his drink. “I may have picked up a couple others. In the airport, you know.”

“Fly a lot, do you, Jack?”

“Not, uh, especially.” 

“Well, glossing over the fact that you’ve clearly spent much more time on stage than you’ve let on, and we will absolutely be returning to that fact later…”

 _Definitely mistakes, plural,_ Jack thought.

“...you’re also a **fan** , Jack.”

“Fan may be be overstating the matter. Slightly. But yes, I have read a good number of your books. And I will admit to a certain... appreciation, for your style. You’re a very talented writer, Phryne.”

“So why the subterfuge?”

“We were having a nice time. I didn’t want you to feel awkward.” He sighed a bit. “I didn’t want you to leave.”

She looked at him a little oddly, then took his hand once more. She skated her fingers over the palm of his hand so lightly he had the oddest image of a fairy dancing in a glen. _Knock it off, Robinson, this isn’t bloody Shakespeare_ , he thought to himself. But then he realized she’d stopped looking at his hand and was looking into his eyes and he stopped thinking altogether.

“I see a very careful man, who confesses to be cynical in the face of mysteries he can’t explain, and claims to have no passions, in spite of a heart that runs as deep as the Pacific Ocean.”

He held her eyes for a moment. Two. Three. Four. And then, with every ounce of willpower he possessed, he moved his gaze down to his hand. “That’s strange; all I can see is another whisky.”

She shook her head, smiling, then moved to grab the bottle. Pouring him a half glass, she did the same for herself.

“So, as a _fan_ ,” he asked, with a bit of amusement and a lot of self-deprecation, “can I ask what you’re working on now?”

“Well, you can ask…”

“Fair enough.”

“I’m teasing. How much do you know about magic, Jack?”

Looking into her eyes, he suddenly thought he knew quite a bit.

_Not. Bloody. Shakespeare. You damned. Sentimental. Fool._

“Uh, not much, I’m afraid.”

“Well the book I’ve just started sketching out - so bear in mind anything and everything could change at this point - takes place at a travelling magic show. There’s a guillotine trick that goes horribly wrong and it turns out to be… _murder_.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she spoke and he decided he absolutely adored magic, sentimental fool or not.

“So you’ve got the whole thing plotted out then?” he asked.

“Almost. I’m having trouble with the killers. You see, it turns out one of the magician’s assistants has a twin and for years the two of them used that in the act. ‘Oh look, she’s over here, now she’s over here!’ That sort of thing.”

“Devious.”

“Indeed. Then, to get out of a bad marriage to the magician, one of the twins faked her death several years before my story is set. But now she’s back and the two sisters have killed off the husband’s new fiancée together.”

“Sounds plotted out to me.”

“Yes, but I’m having trouble figuring out _why_. The first sister’s motivation is clear - she wants control of the show - but the second… why is she hung up on a husband she left? It’s flimsy. I can do better.”

“And I’m sure you will,” he said confidently.

She smiled, then suddenly grabbed his wrist to look at his watch. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “We have to go!”

“We do?” he asked, completely confused. He looked at the time. 11:30pm. “Does this club close early for some reason? Or are you just secretly Cinderella?”

“No to both questions, but if we don’t leave now we’ll miss it!”

“Miss what? What are you talking about?”

“You’ll see,” she said. “Come on, live a little. Let’s go have an experience! Battle back the bombardment, just for the night. You said you wanted something. Trust me, this is _something_.” She grabbed her glass, a small amount of the amber liquid left in it. She held it aloft in a toast filled with meaning.

“To unpath’d waters.”

Jack smiled. He held his own, and, shaking his head, responded.

“To undream’d shores.”

They clinked glasses, finished their respective drinks, and stood. As Jack was about to grab his coat, Phryne stopped him.

“Oh, could you grab my purse?” she asked.

“Where is it?”

“Just behind the chair, there.” And even with the noise of the club Jack noticed her voice go up a bit as she said it. He didn’t think too much of it until he was bent over looking for the purse only to find an empty floor. Confused, he stood back up and, looking at her, his gaze traveled from the purse clearly visible in her hands, to her eyes, clearly checking out his arse. After a second she looked back up and made eye contact with him again. At his questioning expression, she shrugged unapologetically. 

“Turnabout is fair play,” she said with a subtle nod to the bar. He opened his mouth to say something and then thought better of it.

“Shall we?” he asked instead.

“Absolutely,” she agreed. She picked up the bottle on the table, still with a good amount left in it, and surveyed the room. She noticed a group of women in the corner, clearly celebrating something - a birthday? - and made a beeline for them. Jack saw her give them the bottle, kiss one of the women on the cheek and head back to him. 

“Do you know them?” he asked.

“Never met them before in my life,” she replied. “But how often does a gal turn 32 in London?”

And with that she turned around and headed towards the exit, Jack two steps behind.

They stepped out into the English night, colder than Jack remembered going into the club, and quickly headed for the Bakerloo line. Waiting at the Elephant & Castle tube station, Jack, acting purely on instinct, moved to put his arm around her, but somehow realized what he was doing in time and managed to pull his arm back before she noticed. _Not here for this_ , he reminded himself sternly, and when she jumped aboard the Brown Line he decided maybe fate was stepping in to save him. He joined her. 

Once they were aboard and moving, he coughed, lightly, and she turned to look at him.

“My cousin actually lives near the Kensal Green station. Perhaps I should just stay on and head home? It is quite late.”

“Sure, Jack. If that’s what you want. It’s completely up to you.”

They kept riding, Jack going over the relative pros and cons of staying with her or heading back to Kenny’s the entire time. Suddenly she spoke.

“Decision time, Jack, my stop is coming up.”

Jack looked up at the display. “Charing Cross?”

“Mmmmhmmm. My hotel is off Charing Cross.”

“Your hotel...”

“It has an excellent bar, Jack. The views are simply exquisite.”

No. He needed to say no. He was _going_ to say no. He wasn’t here for this. He was here to sightsee and relax and under _absolutely no circumstances_ fall for a stranger at a club like some romcom cliché. So… no. The words were on his lips, but just then she turned slightly to accommodate another passenger, and as she did she lightly brushed Jack’s hand. It was completely accidental and so faint he would have thought he imagined it if not for the shock of electricity it elicited. 

“Alright.”

So… yes. Apparently he was going to say yes.

The train stopped and Phryne and Jack got out. She led him up and out to the Strand, then down the street to a beautiful old building. “The Trafalgar St. James,” he read off the sign out front. “You’re staying here?”

“I am. Come on.”

They took the elevator to the rooftop of the hotel, which was conveniently where The Rooftop bar was located. Stepping out onto the terrace, Jack was stopped in his tracks by the view before him. She hadn’t been kidding; it was exquisite. Nelson’s Column, the National Gallery, the London Eye - all in front of him, lit up like jewels and just as striking. 

Phryne let him pause for a moment, taking it all in. Then she took his hand and walked over to the bar. 

“Hello Mr. B!” she called warmly.

The man behind the bar smiled as soon as he saw her. “Good evening, Miss Fisher. I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t make it before we close. Though, I believe I’d have kept the doors open a little longer for you,” he said with a wink.

“Oh no worries, Mr. B. I just got a little waylaid chatting with the Inspector here. But I am glad we made it.”

“Good evening, Inspector,” the bartender said as he wiped down a glass.

“Uh, hello, Mr… B?”

“Tobias Butler at your service. I’m afraid Miss Fisher is awfully attached to the nickname she’s given me though, so feel free to call me whatever you like.”

“Well, good to meet you in any case,” Jack said. The older man smiled. He seemed friendly and was clearly very fond of Phryne. Jack imagined she had that effect on people everywhere she went.

“Two of whatever magical concoction you’ve dreamed up tonight, Mr. B,” Phryne ordered, taking a seat at the bar to wait.

“Just… we’ve been drinking whisky already,” Jack cut in. “So nothing too strong perhaps?”

“I have just the thing,” Mr. Butler promised, and moved down the bar to start measuring and mixing.

While they waited, Jack turned to take in the bar. It was quiet, much quieter than the club, though he supposed that made sense. It was a weeknight, after all. His eyes swept over his companion once more. She was incredibly beautiful. But it was so much more than that. He felt a connection with her. Jack still wasn’t a love at first sight kind of bloke, but, frankly, he was beginning to wonder why not.

He was interrupted from his sentimental musings by the return of Mr. Butler, who brought with him two coupe glasses filled with a warm orange liquid.

“Thank you, Mr. Butler,” Jack said, and took a sip to taste it. It was, as promised, magical. “Oh, this is _excellent_.” Jack declared.

“Thank you, sir. It’s my variation on the Witty Comeback.”

“Then I doubly thank you. With Miss Fisher, one needs all the help they can get in that department,” Jack said with a smile and Phryne beamed at the compliment.

“Too right,” she agreed. She took her own glass and sipped it. “Mr. B, you are, as ever, a marvel.” Then she hopped down and grabbed Jack’s hand, leading him to the long bar that lined the window. 

As they took their seats, Jack once again looked out at the view. Then to his companion.

“Stunning,” he said simply. She nodded in agreement before looking up to realize he was staring at her. She rolled her eyes at him and shook her head, her earrings dancing around her face. The silver teardrops caught the lights of the city before them and seemed to glow, casting her face, just for a moment, in an ethereal light.

“A little cliché, Jack, but thank you.”

“Thank you,” he responded sincerely. “I never would have found this place on my own. And it is incredible.” He took another sip of his drink. “As is Mr. Butler. This might be the best cocktail I’ve ever had.”

“I know! He’s amazing.” She leaned in to speak in a stage whisper, though there was no one terribly near them to hear. “Once I decide on a place to settle, I’m going to make him an offer. I’m really hoping I can steal him away. He used to be a butler AND he’s Le Cordon Bleu trained. You should taste his appetizers - magnificent!”

“Are you looking? For a place to settle, I mean.”

“Mmmm. For a little while now. I adore traveling, but I haven’t had a home base since I was a teenager and I think I’d rather like that now. I had thought maybe London, but I’ve been back for a few months now and it still doesn’t feel like home. Neither did Paris or Buenos Aires or New York.” She sighed. “Maybe I am Cinderella after all, Jack, still looking for my glass slipper.”

He raised his glass and toasted her.

“To path’d waters and dream’d shores then,” he offered.

“Shakespeare would have a fit with what you’ve done to his scansion,” she chided, but clinked her glass with his all the same.

“I think the Bard would understand. Just this once.”

“Fine fine, you’re the fanboy.”

“I am, I am. And I’m not here to apologize,” he said with a grin. Then, almost without thinking, he added, “Have you considered Melbourne?” 

“Melbourne?” she asked.

“Uh, er, yes,” he stammered. _Oh, god, she was going to think…_ “Just because, I mean, you grew up there.”

“Now that _is_ an interesting idea. I can’t say that I’ve considered it, though obviously there’s more to it than I realized,” she said with a pointed look in his direction.

“Yes, well, it’s a buyer’s market right now,” he mumbled.

“So do you dabble in real estate as well as police work, Jack?”

“No, but I sold my house a couple of years ago.”

“Fresh start?”

“Something like that.”

She didn’t push and he was thankful. He didn’t want to talk about his failed relationships. Not tonight.

“Well,” she said, looking out the window once more, “as soon as I finish sketching out this story idea, I will make a point to check out the housing market in Melbourne.”

“Speaking of... I’ve had an idea.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” He sat forward a bit. “About your twin problem. If you’re interested, I mean.”

“Oh, I am. Go on.”

“Well, what if the second twin _didn’t_ fake her death? What if the first one murdered her - I don’t know why or how, but I’m sure you’ll figure that out - and is now pretending to be her when it suits? Could that help your motivation issue at all?”

She sat back, clearly considering the idea, running it through the rest of her story in her mind to see if it could work. Finally she leaned forward and spoke. “Oh that’s… good. That’s very good. I might use that.”

Jack smiled, pleased to have been able to help her in some way. He took another sip of his cocktail and raised an eyebrow. “So... I guess I’m due for some proceeds, then?”

She snorted at his cheek. “Hardly. But maybe I’ll name one of the characters after you.”

“Oh god, you’re not going to name some boring, nondescript detective after me are you? Talk about cliché.”

“No, you’re right, that’s already been done. But there _is_ this radio announcer in my upcoming book… and I think you’ve got a voice for radio, Inspector.”

“You’re off script again, Miss Fisher. I believe the saying is a _face_ for radio.”

“Oh Jack, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with your face.” She leaned back again and sipped her drink slowly. “Or any other part of you as far as I can tell.”

This time Jack didn’t blush at the implications.

They sat in silence once more and once more Jack was struck by how comfortable it was. As he was finishing his drink, he looked over at her. She seemed deep in thought and he hesitated to interrupt, but then she turned and caught his eye and he couldn’t help the answering smile that spread across his face. He tried to tamp it down by speaking again.

“So, at the risk of one more cliché, do you come here often? It’s just that Mr. Butler seemed to be expecting you.”

She nodded. “I don’t know how it happened, but I like to end my days here. Kind of a ritual. It’s… peaceful. I can let the parts of the day I want to keep sink in and wash away the parts I want to do without.”

“Well, I hope the other companions you’ve brought here have appreciated it. This place is spectacular.”

“Other companions?”

“Yes. I assume… you’ve brought other people here as well, haven’t you?”

“No. Just you, Jack.”

He didn’t know what to say. 

“Thank you, Phryne,” he finally replied. It didn’t seem like enough, but it would have to do.

“You’re welcome.”

She finished her drink and looked back out the window again. “Walk me to my room?” she asked. Jack nodded.

They stood and walked out of the bar, to the elevator, and down to her floor, silent the entire way. When they reached her room, she opened the door with her key and then turned to look at him fully.

“I’m going to ask you to come inside.”

“Phryne…”

She continued. “We could just talk for a while. Or we could kiss. Or we could make love. Whatever we decide. For as long as we want.”

“I’m… why? Why me?”

“I’m many things, Jack, but I’m not stupid. I’m clever enough and introspective enough and worldly enough to know that this, whatever this is between us, is special. I don’t know anything else about it. It could end spectacularly badly. Or beautifully. With a bang or with a whimper or not at all. But it’s _special_ and it’s _something_. You said you were ready for something, Jack. TIme to decide if you actually are.”

“What, no more Shakespeare?” he asked, desperately trying to buy time as he tried to figure out what to do. She raised an eyebrow and a small smirk appeared on her lips. _Oh, she has something,_ he realized. _Of course she does._

“There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.”

“Yes, well, that didn’t turn out too well for Brutus as I recall.”

“I promise not to stab you?” she cheeked.

“I think you’re missing some key parts of the play, Phryne.”

“And I think you’re about to miss the tide, Jack,” she said, taking his hand.

“Stop,” he requested softly, pulling his hand away. 

“What?” she asked, genuinely confused.

“Don’t you know? How easy it would be? And I’m not looking for…. _this_. I don’t do serious anymore, Phryne. It’s safer that way. I am who I am. I’m not certain I want to give that up.”

“I’m not asking you to,” she responded, half sincere, half defensive. “I would never ask anyone to do that.”

“You don’t have to ask. Don’t you realize how easy it would be? For me? You’re incredible. And the way I feel when you touch me? Phryne, if I start falling for you, I’m not sure I’ll ever stop.”

“Sounds serious.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” His voice was soft as he confessed, “I don’t want you to break my heart.”

“See, that’s the mistake you’ve been making all night. You keep thinking you’re alone in this. But you’re not. How do you think I feel when you touch me? The difference is I’m not running scared.”

She touched his cheek with her hand and he leaned into it instinctively.

“I know you’re not stupid either, Jack, but you’re so afraid of these imaginary ‘ifs’, you’re ignoring what’s right in front of you. Which you’re welcome to do, of course, but just remember what it is you’re giving up. You can keep tilting at windmills if you like, but I'm wise enough to know what this is. I'm _already_ falling.” She removed her hand, stepped inside her room, and then turned to look at him. “Be brave - come after me.”

“What did you say?” he asked, the slightest smile tugging on his lips. He knew he had been heading for a fall all night. But it had never occurred to him they might jump off the cliff together. The thought made him unreasonably happy.

“It's a... what would your old-fashioned sensibilities call it? A romantic overture?”

“Say it again,” he said, his smile spreading so wide that his cheeks, unused to the expression, almost rejected it.

“Come after me, Jack Robinson.”

Before she’d even finished the sentence his lips were on hers, one hand in her hair, the other around her waist. After a time he pulled back, just enough to look into her eyes, and saw all the things he was feeling reflected back at him.

“One more question,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Does Mr. Butler do breakfast?”

Her responding laughter could be heard all the way down the hall, right up until the moment her door swung closed. 

**\---------------------**

**EPILOGUE**

Jack searched around in the dark, trying to locate his cell phone as quietly as possible. He finally found it, thankfully still charged, and replied to Kenny’s last text.

_Might not be back to your flat for a bit and didn’t want you to worry. Nothing wrong. Something just came up. It’s good. Not a dusty landmark in sight. Talk soon._

Jack pushed send, then tapped the screen with his finger, considering another message. After a moment, two arms snaked around his waist and he smiled, typing in another sentence. 

_Breakfast for four this weekend?_

Phryne gently stilled his finger before he could push send.

“Dinner, I think, Jack. I don’t care to socialize at such an indecent hour.”

Jack made the change, hit send, then turned around in her arms.

“So, what do you prefer to do during indecent hours?” he asked with a sly grin as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

Her responding smile was wicked and wide and full of indecent promise. But her eyes, even in the dim light of the phone, were soft and happy and full of so much more.

Jack let his phone fall and followed her back to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> The Rooftop bar [is real and looks incredible](https://cdn.kiwicollection.com/media/property/PR174147/xl/174147-18-The%20Rooftop%20View%20at%20Dusk.jpg). I don’t actually know if Mr. Butler works there.
> 
> "There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune" is from _Julius Caesar_ and means, basically, one needs to act decisively during the brief time opportunity presents itself to ensure good fortune.
> 
> “Unpath’d waters, undream’d shores” is from _The Winter's Tale_ and refers to uncharted seas and unfamiliar shores.
> 
> I’ve taken both quotes slightly out of context for this story, but I think the Bard would understand. He ships Phrack too.
> 
> I trust you all know the _Antony and Cleopatra_ line. ;-)
> 
> \---
> 
> Soooooo, this story came about because at some point I realized that many of the songs of one of my favorite bands, Great Big Sea, remind me of Jack and Phryne in some way or another. You wouldn't think a Canadian folk rock band best known for updated interpretations of traditional Newfoundland songs _and sea shanties_ would have a ton in common with two Australian detectives from the 1920s, but it turns out, at least in my muddled mind, they DO. So here is the first of what might become a series of works based on their songs. Or it might remain the only one. We shall all see together. ;-)
> 
>  
> 
> **Full Lyrics:**  
>  I wasn't looking for a lover, I wasn't looking for a friend  
> I wasn't working undercover, I wasn't trying to pretend  
> But when you walked across the dance floor, just like the moon across the sky  
> I knew that I would have to see more, I knew that I would have to try  
> I look into your eyes and I realize  
> Oh no, I can't stop falling  
> My heart betrays me  
> And I know, I'll start to feel it all again  
> Won't someone save me?  
> She jumped aboard the brown line, I accidentally caught her eye  
> She told me she was born a Libra, and I told her I was Gemini  
> She made suggestive conversation, then she lightly brushed my hand  
> Overcome by her temptation, we jumped off down by the Strand  
> And in the English night, oh I realize it again  
> Oh no, I can't stop falling  
> My heart betrays me  
> And I know, I'll start to feel it all again  
> Won't someone save me?  
> She asks me to come inside, we could just talk for a while  
> I wonder if I should, but her touch, her touch, it feels so good.  
> I look into your eyes, and I realize it again.  
> Oh no, I can't stop falling  
> My heart betrays me  
> And I know, I'll start to feel it all again  
> Won't someone save me?
> 
> Great Big Sea  
>  _Can’t Stop Falling_


End file.
